


Might Just Let You

by serenelystrange



Category: Leverage
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Homophobic Language, Humor, M/M, punching some homophobes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29672127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenelystrange/pseuds/serenelystrange
Summary: When Quinn shows up out of nowhere calls in his favor to have Eliot to help him piss off some bigoted relatives...who is Eliot to refuse? Getting to hit a homophobe in the face is always a good time!For poppetawoppet - Thank you for participating in the Leverage Secret Santa Exchange this year!
Relationships: Mr. Quinn/Eliot Spencer (Leverage)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31
Collections: Leverage Secret Santa Exchange (Mod Gifts)





	Might Just Let You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poppetawoppet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppetawoppet/gifts).



To say Eliot is not expecting the man sitting sprawled out on the front steps of his building is a understatement. He knew the time would eventually come when he’d have to pay back a favor owed, but he wasn’t expecting it a week before Christmas, in person no less.

“Quinn,” he says, nodding his head politely enough in greeting.

“Eliot Spencer,” Quinn says, looking up at him from the steps with a lazy grin. “How the hell are ya?”

Eliot takes a moment to consider it; shifting the grocery bag in his hands. The bag that just so happens to include some very nice and very expensive whiskey. How fortuitous.

“Too sober for whatever this conversation is going to be,” he says at last, laughing dryly. “You might as well come in. Unless you’re planning to try and kill me again. We can do that out here.”

“Easy, cowboy,” Quinn drawls, getting to his feet and stretching his arms and shoulders out behind his back.

“You’re one to talk,” Eliot snorts.

Quinn nods, curls flipping over his fore head as he laughs. “Fair enough. And don’t worry, I’m not here to kill you. Just visiting an old friend for a drink or two.”

Eliot raises a suspicious eyebrow. “And to call in that favor, I bet.”

“And they say you’re just the muscle,” Quinn says, smirking in a way that kind of makes Eliot want to punch him.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Eliot says, leading the way into the building with Quinn hot on his heels.

Eliot gets the bag of groceries on the counter and is turning back around to talk when Quinn is suddenly in his personal space, crowding him until his back hits the kitchen counter dully, and he’s forced to look up the inch or so that Quinn has on him to ask what the actual fuck is going on.

“What the actual fuck is going on?” Eliot asks, glaring at Quinn’s arms that are braced on the counter on both sides of him.

Quinn, never really being known for a man of words when actions will do, kisses Eliot instead of answering, moving one hand from the counter to clutch at Eliot’s shirt.

Eliot, also never really being known for a man of words when actions will do, takes a moment to process what’s happening before giving into it and kissing Quinn back. He hooks his hand into the waistband of Quinn’s jeans and tugs him close.

“What the fuck?” Eliot asks again, once Quinn has pulled away and given him a few steps of space.

“Still just like old times,” Quinn says, sounding satisfactorily breathless as he eyes Eliot’s reddened lips with pride.

“It’s been fifteen years, you asshole,” Eliot says, glaring at Quinn with less anger than he probably deserves.

“It’s only been a few years,” Quinn argues. “Since that favor, remember? When I kicked your ass, and then helped save it?”

“You didn’t kiss me, then,” Eliot argues.

“Not on the mouth,” Quinn agrees, readily enough, still looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Wanted to, though.”

Eliot flushes, averting his eyes for a moment.

“So that’s what you want to call your favor in on?” he asks, looking back up at Quinn with narrowed eyes. “A hookup?”

Quinn grins and leans back against the fridge, crossing his arms casually across his chest.

“Not exactly,” he says. “The kiss was just for fun.”

“Well then what do you want?” Eliot asks, resolutely ignore the fluttering in his stomach at Quinn’s words.

Quinn grins at him again, something darkly mischievous that Eliot remembers all too well from fifteen years ago.

“How would you feel about pissing off a whole bunch of homophobic assholes?”

And Eliot, well, if there’s anything that he really loves to do, it’s punching both homophobic assholes and Nazis.

“I’m in,” he says, matching Quinn’s devious grin with his own.

“You remember my Auntie Edna?” Quinn asks the next day as he drives them towards the wedding that’s taking place on one of the rural estates out in the Oregon country.

“About five foot tall, angry as a badger?” Eliot asks.

“That’s the one,” Quinn says. “Anyway, this wedding is for her great grandson Chadley. Fucking little homophobic white supremacist asshole.”

“So he’s your cousin?” Eliot asks, snorting at the man’s stupid name.

“Not really,” Quinn says. “Auntie Edna is just an old family friend, not actually related. And she’s not so bad, especially for someone pushing 80. But this kid…”

“New nazi?” Eliot says, scowling.

“New nazi,” Quinn agrees. “So, we all get the invite, you know how it goes. And so half the south is coming up here for this hoity toity wedding, and there’s nothing more I want to do than piss this little fucker off.”

“So you’re bringing a guy as your date?” Eliot asks. “Doesn’t seem like it’ll cause that much of a ruckus, I gotta say.”

Quinn smirks, keeping his eyes on the road but Eliot can practically feel that shrewd gaze lighting up in delight.

“Needed to bring someone that wouldn’t mind me getting a little handsy. And yeah, I could have hired someone maybe, but this is more believable.”

Eliot nods. “Plus, I might get to punch a Nazi,” he says.

“I’m counting on it,” Quinn says. “His whole wedding party are fuckers just like him, and probably most of the guests, too.” Eliot laughs at that and Quinn continues. “You know, the invitation specifically said to give them the name of the lady I’d be bringing. They even filled in the little “Ms” on the slot.”

“What’d you put?” Eliot asks, amused at the thought of Quinn angrily filling out the RSVP card.

“Said I’d be coming alone,” Quinn says, shrugging. “Let them scramble to fit another person into their seating chart.”

Eliot cackles. This is going to be fun.

They run into the wedding coordinator first, a sweet looking woman who doesn’t bat an eye at the couple and manages to arrange a seat and meal for Eliot with ease.

“Must not know the family,” Quinn whispers to Eliot as they make their way to the rows of seats for the ceremony.

“Your tie is crooked,” Eliot says as they’re taking their seats. “ _Honey,”_ he adds after a beat. He lets Quinn sit down before moving to stand in the small space in front of him, between his knees.

“I’ll fix it for you, babe” Eliot says, loud enough for at least three surrounding rows to hear him.

Quinn looks up at him with mirthful eyes as they hear someone gasp from a few rows behind them.

“Thank you, darlin’,” he says, taking Eliot’s hand and kissing it when his tie has been fixed.

The ceremony drags on and on, but Eliot finds he doesn’t mind too much with Quinn’s hand comfortingly in his, and the burning fuel of spite running through him.

“It’s a shame they’re awful,” Quinn murmurs during on the many bridesmaid speeches. “They’d be pretty damn hot otherwise.”

Eliot looks over at the row of nearly identical bridesmaids, each with blonde hair cascading down their backs in professional curls, and pretty if heavily made-up faces, and nods.

“Funny how ugly hate makes you,” he says, quiet and sincere.

Quinn squeezes his hand in response, and Eliot smiles.

It all comes to a head during the open-bar reception, when the groom and his lackeys have gotten shit-faced in records time. The bride is dancing with her bridesmaids, seemingly already used to Chadley and his behavior.

“Cousin Quinn! Cousin Quinn’s buddy!” Chadley yells out from across the room. He comes over and swings his arms over Quinn and Eliot’s shoulder, shaking them slightly.

“Not your cousin,” Quinn says mildly.

“Not his buddy,” Eliot adds.

“Well, you sure as shit been dancing with someone you’re not buddies with,” Chadley says, laughing at his own perceived cleverness.

“It’s cuz we’re fucking,” Quinn says matter of factly. Eliot nearly snorts out in laughter, but manages to hold it together.

“What?” Chadley says, pulling his arms away as if burning and walking around the pair to face them. “Fucking? But…you’re not a girl,” he says to Eliot, peering at him as if squinting his eyes will suddenly change that fact.

“Nope,” Eliot agrees, making eye contact with Quinn before continuing. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep dancing with my lover.”

“Lover?!” Chadley says, squealing out the word.

“You!” he says accusingly to Quinn. “I heard people whispering about the queers at the ceremony, but I didn’t know it was you!”

“Might want to rethink your language there, bubba,” Eliot drawls, already flexing his punching hand.

“Queers?” Chadley says, looking genuinely confused for a moment in his drunken haze. “What? You prefer I call you fa…”

Eliot punches him before he can finish the slur, and he drops like a sack of potatoes. Eliot vaguely registers someone shouting at them in shock, but then Quinn is kissing him like he’ll die if he doesn’t, and Eliot can’t hear anything over the rushing in his ears.

The groomsmen show up then and grab them both, ready for a fight.

Eliot grins at Quinn even as they’re pulled apart, and gets ready to brawl.

“That was a little anti-climactic,” Quinn says a little while later.

Eliot is driving this time, and he nods.

“Didn’t expect them all to be so shitty at brawling,” he agrees.

“Well, we made a scene, at least,” Quinn says. “I’ll take it.”

“Caused a few black eyes, too,” Eliot adds. “Good luck with your reception photos, assholes!”

Quinn hums in agreement and flicks on the radio, Johnny Cash’s voice surrounding them as they move along the country roads.

“As much fun as that was,” Eliot says when they’re back at his place, “I’m glad I can take this monkey suit off now.”

“Shame,” Quinn says, leering at him. “It looks real good on you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eliot says, rolling his eyes at the compliment.

“You’re right,” Quinn says. “It’ll look a lot better on your floor.”

“So dumb,” Eliot says, but he’s laughing as Quinn attacks, getting him undressed in record time.

Quinn is too busy stripping his own clothes off to bother responding, and Eliot decides fuck it, they can talk in the morning.

Eliot wakes the next morning, genuinely surprised to find Quinn still beside him. He’s awake and sitting up against the headboard, giving Eliot the uncanny feeling that he’d been watching him sleep.

“Mornin’,” he says, sitting up and turning towards Quinn, legs folded beneath him, sheet pooled over his very naked lap. 

“I liked pretending to love you,” Quinn says suddenly, looking alarmed that the words had come out of his mouth.

So, Eliot thinks, they’re getting right into it then. He had hoped for some coffee first. But what can you do.

“You don’t have to stop, then,” Eliot says, giving Quinn a soft smile that feels foreign on his face.

Quinn looks surprised, but hopeful.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Suppose so,” Eliot agrees.

“What if I wanted to stop pretending?” Quinn asks, emboldened by Eliot’s response so far. “What if I just wanted to finish what we started fifteen years ago?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Eliot says, shrugging casually, as if his heart isn’t fit to burst out of his chest at any moment.

Quinn beams at him, looking suddenly like that baby-faced man Eliot had known all those years ago. It makes his breath hitch even as Quinn speaks again.

“What if I just wanted to love you?” Quinn asks, cupping one of Eliot’s cheeks in his hand and rubbing his thumb under his jaw soothingly.

Eliot bites at Quinn’s thumb teasingly and regards him with shining eyes.

“Well then,” he says, feeling suddenly more courageous then he ever expected, “I might just let you.”

THE END


End file.
